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Showing posts with label repressed memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label repressed memories. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 8

A 12 Steps 9th Step Reflection - What am I supposed to do when people simply can’t be honest with themselves?

 Being a situational minority, [living in South Los Angeles] myself - “visually” (although only “somewhat;” I do sometimes get myself casually mistaken for being Hispanic), I get a lot of flack. 

It’s the kind of thing that would have potentially framed our collective and generalized minds, for having been part of the dragnet downward spiral that so many of us face, for having this faulty, anti-social, mistaken, misfortunate, misgiven, mistreated, maladapted, disregarded, or sometimes, we were simply just the one picked out to be bullied upon, for a long stretch of life. Many of us, in the smallest demographics, here - the 1-4%ers; the silent intelligent minds, the secretive genius, the condescending outperformer, or some sort of spiritual misfit, perhaps. 

As the fungus, for the sake of wood rot - in healing the stuff of nature that consumes us, as the tree of life, perhaps, that we, as intelligent humans are, we tend to a greater sustainability, for having made the sacrifice that signifies and represents our material loss in life - for nature to persist.

I was some sort of combination of these things, to varying degrees. My teachers might commonly have characterized me as an “A” grade mind, but a “B” grade achiever. It would be quite ostensible, as such. I was hit, as a child, and treated cruelly, at times, by my parent authority nurturing environment. Although I was young, I knew, intelligently well enough, that I was being mistreated, and that there was an unreasonable expectation of that I ought have not violated whatever boundary it was that I had pushed too far on, in acting out, or whatever the case might have been. That was back when I was around age 6, or so, when I started to come to understand that I was being held hostage, of sorts, and that life is a cruel endeavor, at times. My happiness and enjoyment was ephemeral, and sadness came as a much more common and ostensible expectation of myself

Now, at age 39, I do broadly superficial gestures towards a mindset of reserved superiority, should that card need to be pulled, in order to one-up myself, in a situation, whereas I’m narcissistic, at times, and I feel that simply accommodating others I come across, superficially and casual that it may be, I do have a somewhat limited basis and “license,” as it were - to engage with, and exchange acquaintanceship with, as far as how I might ever (or, actually) expect to get to know a great many more individuals in the localities in which I frequent. On some level, the diversity of Los Angeles, and surrounding areas, is a beautiful thing - we get a small taste of it, here and there, as children - some of us had interaction-based socialization profiles, some of us had cultural endowments, of our learning and travel experience, in our youthful developing years, and others - well, to be honest, I somewhat simply don’t quite know. There’s not much in terms of disclosure, when it came to so many people. It was bwammo; butt shittle, for sure, and bwopp dick? Plik plok. 

That’s essentially how I do some people. What else am I supposed to do? They seem to realize it, and they truly just go for it, in this slight game of alluding to a secretive shame of non-disclosure of what’s humble and slight about us; each unto ourselves, but as for myself, I feel as though I’m simply capable, in being an honest person, whereas I seem to attract a lot of pent up frustration and aggression towards me, as well as to my personal belongings, possessions, art work - even my right of way and freedom of volition, out in public. Ought I mix it up, a bit more, and get out of town, for that it’s slight localities that I frequent? I’m trying to do something with these pigeons and sparrows, though. I feel that that’s the crux of what separates and distinguishes me from these “others,” casually “majority” that they might be, for as ephemeral and unsustained that it might be, when it comes down to constancy, faith in, and loyalty to a purpose - it’s sometimes that it is quite obvious that people had been talking about me, in some group or networked small and trivial collective or establishment of people - on the other hand, I have the largest demographic of spiritually faithful compatriots that I might believe exists, for being a Christian man; perhaps here and there I entertain discovering various nuances of the faith, and demonizations, but these are simple numbers and statistics that we had all grown up with. 

Somewhere along the way, young people had decided that popular beliefs and establishments were disdainful, and averse to the common man’s wellbeing, whereas true wellness was largely characterized as a shameful “hurt” area; it hurt to have affections for others, to achieve, in the face of others who had not serendipitously found good fortune, well enough for everyone’s attention spans (how commonly does serendipity happen?). People who had achieved some good or gainful new establishment, as for their own take - were seen as the rightfully scapegoated ones. That’s how I feel, in any case. It happens to women, of a certain sort, all the time, and who likes to be incorrect, or improper? It’s a humbling thing, for many - discovering the consequence of “God’s” purpose and judgment in our lives, yet I hear confessionals all the time, and I have my own notions as to how and why these sorts of interrogative processes come to be characterized and fixed in to the mind of an unwell and unstable psychological archetype - ephemeral that it may be, it does happen quite commonly, for the great many amongst the few of us, that there are, in some instances. 

The truth is most commonly a great and celebrated thing; it’s a thing of joy, good humor, and elation - good people can’t imagine something so awful and horrid, such that it ought not have been done. At what point does the unrelenting bold one simply cease to persist in asserting dominance over differences between themselves, and a great many others? People have access to richly developed minds and intelligence forms of much of history and establishment that has been recorded in some form, whether it be visual, artistic, literary, or of the other ways and means in which we communicate and confer symbolism and meanings unto others. 

Wednesday, July 10

A second-degree-removed 💗 flub. Some seminal thoughts, here: on dying.

As I had been a guy for the sociable scene this recent holiday week (July 4th, 20¹9);

I felt a confidence about the air, of that love, of that cleanliness, and good old-fashioned romance might win many over, including myself, as I saw many couples. 

Then, (twice, I believe « on a släde couch jaunt », I interred a heart flutter. I say twice-(removed) because it was <_ about="" along="" and="" as="" athleticism="" be="" better="" brought="" confidence="" deluded="" dying="" folklore="" forth="" get="" h4="" had="" how="" i="" immortal="" in="" it="" life="" many="" me.="" mortality="" my="" nbsp="" not="" obvious="" of="" on="" others="" our="" self.="" sense="" some="" that="" thoughts="" to="" we="" well="" with="" yet="" youthful="">
That being said, I'm fairly well-to-the-self as far as routine (getting back to it), and it was a good several to many hours spent in caring self-healing therapy; mainly of pressure-point massage. 

Some repressed memories came to mind, during several of many traumatic-crisis incidents that bubbled forth, upon my ⁴th of July weekend. 
That I am 37 years old, I felt it fairly iconic celebutante of me, (nearly) incurring a heart-attack. It made me realize several things.

  1. First of all, the attrition. Who wouldn't [given Scientology] be held at questioning and tribulation for justice? Is my objective reality different than others'? 
  2. Second of all, I felt like I was suitably seated only somewhat to have faithfully only dalliançèd a heart attack « émbue », as it were. Just a flub. My rote and good deeds unto faith towards the feeding of the pigeons had done me well, as for this go-round. 
  3. But what about others? Would they have haunted so bwamm, just like myself, and fared so dauntless jaunt regardless fwamm . . . the sidewalk's upturned now-ish? 
Fairly bwammAF to note, it's fairly unexpected conversational topic to bring up recent circulatory issues outside of the medical field, yet I'm a fairly astute abstracts-by-night reader, with a fairly well-to-do IQ to go with it. 

I thought about my interrent peers and their such-to-suppose (also [nearly]) heart-attacks. Regardless of (whatever), I feel like perhaps it (I); ergo: ought be wrought out in the public. 

First of all, it's a looming spectre for all of us, some day. I've determined that it takes death over fighting and waste to produce crystal methamphetamine. Nobody (supposed)...<_ div="" nbsp="">

Well, okay. People do give effort and produce will and means for the [<_ div="" go="" good="" identities="" much="" nbsp="" of="" others.="" psychology.="" standard="" the="" through="" we="">

But okay. Fwiff. But what's the point? We all fwiff, some alike, some different. 

The heart murmur, and subsequent blood circulatory debacles, which I had worked out in my self-physical pressure-point therapy, over many hours, became a self-evident article of forensics, given repressed-memories, time-elapsed had withheld from myself; I felt that it was so; as well, unto others who cho[o]se to a abuse me. 

Perhaps we were all harboring hidden resonances of childhood traumas that none of us were grown up well enough, by far - to the expectations of that God would not burden Man with more that He Himself could ought handle. 

The Bible rings true, and in society, we have the seminal works of others as upon our Daily Bread offerings of choices we might make, rarely noticing or remembering the unique traumas within each one of us who had been unduly abused, yet a formative self of abusive concomitance that had become our spectre alter self; our Sympathetic Resonance of pain, that formed our early lives; the framework that we had grown up within and amongst. 

Perhaps leading us to nearly die early, at some point in our lives. 

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